thirst and transcendence
I am thirsty when I am not reverent of your transcendence, God.
Who is like the Lord?
Who taught the Lord his wisdom?
Who empowered the Lord to create?
Who inspired the Lord to love?
Like a wildflower in bloom, I crave water.
It is springtime and the soil is breaking.
I crave water, like a lost man in a dessert.
I am thirsty, so I drink.
I drink, and I satisfy a physical need.
Yesterday, I felt the familiar parched feeling overtake my tongue. I drink.
I hear the Lord’s whisper. I am reminded of scripture.
The woman at the well is thirsty. She approaches a familiar well. She drinks.
Already waiting for her is a man, little known to her, but well acquainted with her heart.
Waiting. He has watched her drink before. He watches her drink once again.
Her tongue is satisfied.
Her soul is still parched.
Little does this woman know that this man was the very one that created her.
He created the water, the bucket that held it, the tongue that tasted it.
He knew of her sin.
He knew of her thirst.
And yet he was still waiting for her.
He asks her for a drink. He makes the first move.
She is baffled at his intentionality.
She can’t quite comprehend this man, who despite social stigma, has greeted her with love.
He introduces her to a new water, to a new covenant.
And on my bedroom floor, I drink.
I am reminded of the intentionality of my savior.
His desire for my heart is holy.
The well is deep.
And I think to myself about the diluted water I have used to try and satisfy.
Like shoving a round block in a square peg, I view God through the lens of my own experience.
I forget his holiness, I approach him casually.
The mercy seat is just another place to drink from a well that will soon run dry.
Jesus meets me there, as I try and try and try and try.
I drink. I rest.
My soul is satisfied.